


The Bird from the Window

by tanyart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a song in the wind; Altair chases it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bird from the Window

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme! The prompter bought to my attention that Malik’s voice actor, Haaz Sleiman, also sings! One song he covered that was particularly lovely was "Asfour", and you can see that from a [clip of Nurse Jackie](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGCGVrOukSU). The lyrics and translation can be found [here](http://www.arabiclyrics.net/ayda-al-ayoubi/Asfour.php), and very much inspired the fic, as well as the title.

Throughout his life, the wind had gifted Altair with many things—countless breaths of cool air on a hot day, the satisfying snap of his robes when he ran, an encouraging push during a jump—all wonderful, physical and tangible things that grounded Altair to the world, even as he flew across the parapets of Masyaf’s fortress. But on this day, the wind had given him an unexpected gift, a soft, low voice that threaded through the air, ghostly and faint. 

Altair had stopped in his tracks, hating how his boots had clicked against the cobbled tiles of the roof, momentarily drowning out the distant hum. He paused, caught between the decision to continue his way back to the library or to chase after the echo, though the latter made him think of the days as a child when he used to imagine phantoms in the dark. Tipping his head to the side, he closed his eyes, intent on trying to find the direction of the sound, and to reassure himself that the soft voice was not a trick of his mind, not a whisper from the Apple that he seemed to hear too often these days. His heart stuttered for a moment as the voice disappeared, only to start pounding again when Altair caught another faint snatch of words, carefully stringed into a melody that stirred the back of his mind.

Altair opened his eyes; he was no longer a child and it was not yet dark. Perhaps he could spare the time to chase after this phantom after all. He followed the wind, sure-footed and curious to where it would lead him. 

Surprised to find himself eventually in the library, Altair all but lost track of the song within the stone walls. He wandered around for a bit, much to the bemusement of some of the apprentices, and turned to the garden.  _Ah, of course._

At first glance, the garden appeared to be empty, but as Altair padded deeper into the soft grass, he could see the glow of a blue figure from his second sight, nearly hidden behind the outgrowth of a wayward bush at the cliff. Altair crept closer and knelt behind a broken pillar, not wanting to interrupt the singer, whose voice he was fairly certain he could put a name to now, though he almost refused to believe it.

Malik was sitting at the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side and a faraway look in his eyes. When he sang, his voice was hushed, but strong and clear enough for Altair to make out the words and melody. He shivered, a distant picture coming to his mind—of ghosts and a tiny candle, and of a boy who would hum a lullaby to soothe his younger brother to sleep. 

Altair had forgotten the song over the years. Back then, in the midst of a dozen other novices trying to sleep, he had found it annoying. Malik’s voice had been too high, like a girl’s, then rough and cracking as he got older until finally Kadar no longer needed his brother’s song to fall asleep, and Malik sang no more—at least, no more to Altair’s knowledge.

But, listening now, he thought that Malik must have kept singing, somehow, whether in the privacy of an empty room or out in the open where even the loudest noise could be drowned out. Each note was beautiful in its simplicity, unhindered by the vibrato Altair was used to hearing in musicians who used their voices for money, but still practiced and precise. Without thinking, Altair leaned his head against the pillar, eyes drifting shut. His vision only seemed to impair him, a paltry sense in comparison to Malik’s voice filling his ears.

He remembered, suddenly, why he had disliked Malik’s singing as a child—it had lured away the phantoms Altair had been so keen on chasing, made him fall asleep before each song ended, unbothered by nightmares, and angry in the morning that he couldn’t deal with the ghosts himself. 

Altair smiled, opening his eyes to catch a glimpse of Malik falling back on the grass, a little hitch in his song as the breath rushed out, followed by an irritated, “ _aay!_ ” and the sound of a small rock being tossed down the cliff. An abrupt end, surely, but it had given Altair time to start sneaking away, leaving Malik to lie on his back, the beginnings of an entirely new song already on his lips.

* * *

Altair was certain that he hadn’t been caught listening—besides, it wasn’t as if Malik had taken pains to stay hidden—but when the man came into his quarters that evening, unexpected and unannounced, Altair felt that maybe he had intruded on something private.

Still, for all his guilty conscious, he kept his mouth shut, and only sat up from where he had been reading on his pallet. 

“You were in the gardens today,” Malik said, kneeling down beside him. His gaze was sharp, but Altair was relieved to find that Malik’s expression held no hint of embarrassment or shame. Involuntarily, he strained to hear more of Malik’s voice, marveling just a little at how different it sounded when he spoke.

“I wasn’t aware that you still sang,” he said, very quiet. 

“Still? Hm. I’ve had little reason to sing these past few months,” Malik replied with a thoughtful frown. “And, even then, I find that I only like to sing for myself, or people who are very dear to me.” 

“And for whom did you sing for in the garden?” Altair asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Kadar,” Malik said, and no longer looked as if the name brought him any pain, just a slight wistful look in eyes. “It was a lullaby I used to sing to him when we were younger.”

“Yes, I remember,” Altair said before he could help himself. 

Malik blinked, a spot of color rising to his cheeks. “Oh, that explains how you knew.”

“You’re much better now,” Altair said, which caused Malik to laugh wryly. He sat back, propping against the cushions and Malik scooted closer, their shoulders pressing together.

“When I fell back on the grass, I bumped my head on a rock,” Malik said, suddenly. “I looked up and saw a bird, watching me, before it flew away.”

The statement was non-sequitur and odd, but Altair remembered the sound of the rock being thrown down the cliff that afternoon, and he grinned. “You should watch where you—“

“Quiet,” Malik interrupted, brow furrowing. His hand came up to pluck at the embroidery of his robes, almost nervous, but contemplative. Finally, he glanced at Altair, solemn, and started to sing.

It was the melody he had been humming before Altair had left the gardens, the one after Kadar’s lullaby. Altair froze, his breath shallow, as if it was too loud. Malik’s voice was soft, singing of a lost bird, and Altair leaned in, drinking every sound and feeling every reverberation between them, no longer separated by distance or hiding behind a pillar. He listened, able to hear the nuances and tiny imperfections that made it all the more lovely.

Malik’s voice had changed over the years. It was lower, of course, and had the rasp of disuse that would certainly go away in time if he kept on singing. And Malik was singing for  _him_ , Altair thought wonderingly, and if the wind carried it out the open window, he could close his eyes, knowing the song was  _meant_ for no one else but him alone.

Even so, Malik refused to let the wind take his song. He turned to Altair, pressing their foreheads together and dropped his voice into a whisper, crooning into Altair’s ear. The words became indistinct, blurring so that there was only the melody, and it left Altair to imagine the lyrics himself—still of a bird, flying away from a cage.

When Malik finished, Altair drew in a breath, almost shaky. His heart was beating too quickly, fingers too jittery, and, shamefully, he felt as if he missed the point of Malik’s song; it was one meant to soothe and calm, but Altair wanted to stand, shout, maybe run over the rooftops of Masyaf for the rest of the night, he didn’t know.

“It would do me some good if you said something,” Malik muttered, pulling away. “A man does like to be complimented, on occasion.”

“I—” Altair began, realizing that sometime during the song, his hand had traveled to hold the back of Malik’s head, keeping him close. “I would like to listen to you sing again. Please.”

“Ah,” Malik said, grinning. “So if I sing for you to stay away from the Apple, or pick up after yourself, or stop running headlong into all manner of fights, would you listen?”

Altair brushed his fingers lightly over Malik’s hair, pleased when the other man leaned into the touch, and smirked. “I might.”

“Well, I know where to pick my battles,” Malik huffed, escaping Altair’s grasp. He settled once more with his back against a pile of cushions, staring at some point on the opposite wall. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed singing—to someone, and not just myself,” he admitted, and sounded slightly bewildered by it.

Altair, still restless, looked at Malik, amused that he seemed to be at a lost for something so simple. “Then sing,” he said, “and I will stay here.”

Malik pursed his lips, most likely wondering if he was going to be humoring himself or Altair. Eventually, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards and he asked, “What should I sing about?”

Altair paused, mind drawing a blank until a fluttering of cloth caught the corner of his eye. He turned to the window, feeling the breeze hit softly against his face, cool and gentle.

“Sing for me about the wind,” he said, brushing his lips against Malik’s cheek. “And tell it thank you.”


End file.
